Denial
by The Wavesinger
Summary: 'I do not love him...I cannot' Sequel to Waiting for Hope


**I didn't plan a sequel for _Waiting for Hope_, but this wrote itself. I know, I'm way out of bounds…two stories in one day, and I'm new to this site(at least in the writing department). But when inspiration strikes, then Aire of Gondor is unstoppable.**

**Fats AKA The Sue KillerHunter—No, she wasn't. But she has to have heard of it.**

**Disclaimer—Any idiot can see that I'm not Tolkein. Heck, I don't even own any characters. And Arwen's story? Tolkein's too. I only own the (very poor) story line.**

For a long time, I thought Men were full of greed. I pitied them, for their short lives, for their lack of faith, for their preoccupation with war. It seemed to me that they were foolish creatures, spending their whole lives in pursuit of fame, power, money or love. We of the Eldar are not like that, I used to think. We have no need for power or wealth. For us, beauty is the main ingredient of life. As for Men, I shuddered to see their pitiful crafts, to look at them, to even think of them. I supposed that all Men were like the few I knew of, those who did not like beauty for beauty's sake. I was wrong.

For I met a Man such as I have never known before.

He is young—twenty at the most—but he seems to be polite and intelligent. He is of near kin to me, though not as near as Father or even Grandmother, for he is now the Heir of Isildur, his father having died when he was yet a child. But though he is young, he posses certain qualities of mind and body which few even among the Eldar have. For he is handsome, much more than any Man I have ever seen, and, what is more, he is not proud of it. Were it not for his mortality, he is as one of the Eldar, so great a resemblance does he bear to us. My brother, too, have spoken well of his great skill in bearing arms. They say he uses a bow as if he is one of the Eldar, and his skill with a sword is such that he could kill a hundred or more Orcs single-handedly, and though I do not like violence of any kind, I will admit that he impresses me. Yet he is unassuming, as much as a boy of twenty could be, and though we have not been face to face since our meeting in the woods, I have seen him many times as he goes on his daily errands, and I have seen how respectful he is to all the Eldar, even those younger than me, and the way he tends to his mother.

Though I ramble in this way, I am not in love with him. I am not! He is a mere child, and his twenty years are next to nothing compared to the long hundreds I have lived—and I am considered in the prime of youth by most. I repeat, I am not in love with him! How could I be? He is a Man, and I am of the Eldar.

But am I? I remember now my heritage. I am only Half-Elven, they say. But that does not matter. Though I can give up my immortality, I will not. It will pain Father too much. And I am of the Eldar, whoever my great-grandparents were! It is my life. I belong in Rivendell and Lorien, not in cold, stone-walled cities of Men. And I will not give up my mortality for any Man. What am I saying? I do not love him. I will not give up my immortality, simply because I do not love any Man, and never will.

And yet, I remember my thoughts many years ago, how I wished that I could fall in love, even if it were with one of the Edain. I do not wish that now. But now, I rue the day I vowed that I would make the choice of Luthien. I am not she, and I do not need to fall for a mortal, and the Heir of Isildur at that. I know what they are like. But he seems different…

Father will say that I am above him, that I am one of the Eldar, granddaughter of Earendil, and of Galadriel. He will say that I am the light of my people, their Evenstar, Lady of Lorien and of Imladris. But I think that he is above me. He is a Man, but he is so much more. He does not deny his mortality, or rail at Elros for choosing to become one of the Edain, but accepts that he, too, will leave the Circles of the World one day. His life would be in danger if Sauron knew that he existed, but he seems to accept that. He has many ways that are not really necessary, but make him pleasant to be around. He values beauty as much as—or more than—the Eldar, and yet, like the Eldar, he does not balk at fighting for a greater good. I remember the prophecy of Malbeth the Seer, and I feel in my bones that he is the One Malbeth spoke of. He is truly greater than I am, the hope of mankind.

Wait…Hope. That word is familiar. I remember now, in my foolishness, how I thought that I would wait for Hope. Hope, not hope. I may have had a sudden glimpse of the future, a moment of foresight, but it is much more likely that I, in my ignorance, made a naïve wish. And now the Heir of Isildur has come, and he tells me that he was once called Estel. Hope. But I do not love him. It is improbable and impossible. I do not love him! I do not. I cannot. I will not.

**Ok, so that was cheesy, but hopefully better than Waiting for Hope.**

**Well, Arwen is really a hard territory for fanfiction, since Tolkein gave us so little facts about her (the films don't count) but I like writing about her a lot, because I can explore her character and give it layers and depth, and basically re-invent her. If I did that to another character, I'd be killed by enraged fans.**

**And I have no idea how or why, but I'm writing_ another_ sequel to this. Arwen is fascinating to write about, really. I think I'll call it the 'Estel' trilogy. **


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